One had only to look in the direction of any object to get its history from the tailor.
“I bought that, sir,” he said, when I was looking at the picture, “of a man near Norwich. It cost me half a crown.”
“Three shillings,” said the sister. Then to me, “He takes a sixpence off, now and again, sir, because he’s jealous of my bargains; aren’t you, Tom?”
Tom smiled at her and winked at me. “She will have her bit of fun,” he said.
“But it’s a fine picture,” said I.
“Proud to have you say so,” he answered; “I like it, and the man didn’t seem to care about it. He was going to the Colonies and parting with a lot of odds and ends. I bought the brass candlesticks off him at the same time—a shilling.”
I could see why the little man liked the picture, for the same reason I liked it myself. It was of the Norwich School, a broad open landscape painted with care and finish of detail, and with much of the charming falsity of light common among certain pictures of that time. On the left was a cottage whose garden gave on to the road, a cottage almost buried under two great trees. The road wound past, out of the shadows of the trees, and vanished over a hill. The middle distance showed a great expanse of country dotted with trees with the continuation of the road running through the vale until it was lost in a wood. A sky of banked up clouds hung over all. Right across the middle of the picture was a wonderfully painted gleam of sunlight, flicking trees, meadows, and the road into bright colours; the rest of the picture being subdued to give this effect. Up the road, coming towards the cottage, was a small man in a three-cornered hat, knee breeches, and long skirted coat. This figure dated the picture a little earlier than I had at first thought it.
“That’s me,” said the tailor, pointing to the figure. “That’s what Rose said as soon as I brought it home, ‘Why that’s you, Tom.’”
“I did, sir, that’s just what I said. ‘Why Tom, that’s you,’ I said.”
“And so it is,” said the tailor.